Summary: Written for a kinkmeme prompt of "Get on your knees, before he changes his mind" - C'mon people! How can you not rise to a straight line like that? - OP would prefer the OT3 inducting D'Artagnan into the brotherhood of musketeers (all on one!). Follows on from episode 8, The Challenge. Basically D'Artagnan sucks everyone off in turn, and doesn't really mind at all...
"Shouldn't you be out celebrating?" Athos leaned in the doorway to the dormitory with an air of mild enquiry that managed to avoid conveying his surprise at finding D'Artagnan had moved into the barracks.
Something untoward had clearly happened, given D'Artagnan's veiled and jaded references to being done with women and love, not to mention the boy's downcast mood at a time he should surely have been happiest.
No stranger to heartache, Athos understood there were things D'Artagnan perhaps wouldn't want to discuss, but he was fond of him, and determined to cheer him if he could. And besides, he'd learnt there were avenues other than women, if you were open to it.
D'Artagnan glanced up at him and sighed. He felt guilty, Athos had given up so much of his time to train him, had certainly been responsible for his eventual triumph, and here he was hiding in a deserted dormitory while the rest of the regiment was out celebrating defeat over the red guards. D'Artagnan knew if he'd joined them he'd have been treated as the guest of honour, bought drinks all night, lauded, the centre of attention.
"Sorry." He smiled ruefully. "Guess I wasn't really in the mood."
Aramis appeared in the passage behind Athos and clapped him on the shoulder. "There you are! Are you coming, or what?" He noticed D'Artagnan sitting despondently on one of the narrow beds and frowned. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Athos told him. "Change of plan. We're drinking here tonight."
Aramis opened his mouth, caught Athos' warning look, and closed it again with a shrug. "I'll fetch Porthos," he said instead, and disappeared down the corridor.
Athos walked slowly into the room, boots echoing on the wooden boards. Empty of its normal complement of men the room felt vast, and D'Artagnan couldn't help but be slightly comforted by Athos' presence.
"You don't have to do this," he muttered awkwardly.
"And yet, here we are." Athos smiled at him and sat down on the opposite bed.
D'Artagnan's tense expression softened reluctantly into a reciprocal smile, as with a clatter of feet in the passage outside, Aramis and Porthos burst into the room making enough noise for twice the number of men.
They were both bearing armfuls of bottles, and D'Artagnan stared. "Have you invited the whole regiment up?"
Porthos grinned at him. "And there we were worried it wouldn't be enough!"
"Yes, these are just for Athos," Aramis joked. Athos gave him a look, but said nothing, predominantly because it had made D'Artagnan laugh.
By the time the fifth bottle had been broached, D'Artagnan's mood had definitely lifted. At first he'd been wary they would press him for the reasons for his sudden departure from his lodgings, but everyone had left it tactfully alone, understanding that in affairs of the heart there could be solace found in drinking and good company, but never in prying questions, however well meaning.
If he needed to talk, they would naturally listen, and offer varying levels of bad advice, but until he did, they would concentrate on the more serious business of toasting his commission into the musketeers and the pricking of the Cardinal's pride.
By the end of the sixth bottle, D'Artagnan was lying sprawled diagonally across the bed with his head in Porthos' lap. He was down to his shirtsleeves, although still displaying the musketeer device proudly on his shoulder.
Aramis gestured with his glass, smirking. "Who's taking bets on whether he sleeps with that tonight?"
Porthos cackled with laughter. "I'd hope he could do a bit better than that."
"I meant go to bed with it - " Aramis attempted to clarify, and broke off as even Athos gave an amused snort.
"Wearing it!" Aramis reached for the bottle and shook it despondently. "Have we got any more?"
"Down there." Porthos gestured at the foot of the bed. "I would pass it to you, but someone seems to have fallen asleep on me."
"I'm not asleep!" D'Artagnan protested. He struggled into a sitting position and stared at the fresh glass Aramis was offering him. "Uh. I'm not sure I can."
"I'll have it." Porthos leaned past him and swapped it for his empty one. "Just getting started."
D'Artagnan frowned at him, and looked round at the others. Athos looked as steady as ever, despite having drunk more than D'Artagnan. Aramis at least had the courtesy to look a little flushed of face, his shirt hanging open in disarray, and one of his braces slipped from his shoulder.
"I don't know how you do it." D'Artagnan climbed off the bed, narrowly averted falling into Athos, and weaved his way unsteadily across to the dresser where he poured some water from the pitcher and splashed his face.
"Years of practice." Aramis yawned. "And off duty hours with nothing better to do than drinking, relaxing, and each other."
D'Artagnan looked up in time to see Porthos laughing silently and Athos throwing a warning look at Aramis that he didn't understand.
"What do you mean?"
"He doesn't mean anything," Athos said quickly.
"Spending time with each other," Aramis expanded. "That's all I meant."
"Hmmn." D'Artagnan re-took his seat, and this time didn't protest when Aramis automatically handed him another glass of the wine.
The final bottle was rolling empty on the floor, and the candles had burned low. Even Athos was lying down by now, on his side, head resting on one hand as he conversed in a low voice with Aramis.
D'Artagnan was on his back, head tucked into the crook of Porthos' arm. Porthos was propped up against the bed-head, listening idly to Athos and Aramis, and stroking D'Artagnan's hair absent-mindedly. Neither of them were quite sure how or when he'd started doing it, but as D'Artagnan hadn't objected, he hadn't stopped.
Aramis finally saw what Porthos was doing, caught Athos' eye and jerked his head meaningfully in their direction, smirking. Athos just nodded, having noticed some time previously and kept quiet.
"So." Aramis sat up and stretched. "Your first night as a musketeer. How does it feel?"
"Right now? A bit blurry," D'Artagnan smiled. Everything he'd been feeling earlier was pleasantly numb, and he was lying in a warm haze of friendship and alcohol.
"Then we'll let you go to sleep. In a bit. But first there's just the small issue of your initiation," Aramis said, twisting his moustache thoughtfully between his fingers.
"Aramis," Athos said warningly.
"What?" Aramis looked innocently at him. "It's the rules."
"What initiation?" D'Artagnan asked, sitting up and immediately feeling dizzy. Porthos put an arm round him, and he was grateful for the support.
"You need to perform a forfeit," Porthos was explaining, patting him on the shoulder. "To show you're truly one of us."
"What kind of forfeit?" D'Artagnan asked suspiciously. He had a nasty feeling it was going to involve someone shooting a melon off his head. As long as it wasn't him having to do the shooting, because in his current state of inebriation someone would almost certainly die.
"Oh, something suitably humiliating," Aramis told him with a cheerful smile.
"And sexual. Did we mention sexual?" Porthos added, grinning wickedly.
D'Artagnan choked. "Sexual? Who with?"
Porthos shook his head, exchanging an amused look with Aramis. "Not a very bright boy, is he?"
"To be a good solider he just needs to be good at following orders," Aramis replied, ignoring D'Artagnan's indignant look. "What do you think Athos, will he do as we tell him?"
"I'll warrant he'll do what Athos tells him," Porthos interrupted, laughing.
Athos, who'd stayed out of it thus far, stood up with a show of reluctance that hid a smile. "What do you say, D'Artagnan?" he enquired. "Are you prepared to accept the ruling of your peers, and perform whatever act we deem suitable?"
D'Artagnan looked from one to the other of them and set his shoulders, nodding determinedly. He had enough trust in his friends that they would see him come to no actual harm, and after the day's events was prepared to welcome whatever degrading act they suggested.
Aramis raised his eyebrows, giving an approving twist of his lips, while Porthos gave a low, delighted laugh. Athos just held D'Artagnan's eyes for a second, reading defiance and nerves and amusement in them. He nodded slightly.
"Very well. In that case - get on your knees."
D'Artagnan slid to the floor without argument, awaiting instruction. It was only as he realised this put his face on a level with Athos' crotch that he began to suspect what the challenge might entail.
Aramis and Porthos came to stand either side of him, and D'Artagnan swallowed nervously. He wanted to look up at them, gauge their expressions, but somehow his gaze was fixed on Athos' groin. His clothing was loose and D'Artagnan couldn't tell if he was aroused, but the thought that he might be sent a shiver down his spine. He was suddenly reminded of all the training sessions they'd shared, of Athos' arm around his throat, a blade in his hand, throwing D'Artagnan to the floor and standing over him. Had he been thinking of something like this the whole time? Had they all?
"Have you guessed what it is we require of you?" Athos asked, when D'Artagnan neither moved nor spoke.
"You want me to suck you off," D'Artagnan said, his own voice sounding distant in his ears.
Aramis patted him approvingly on the shoulder. "Earlier, his majesty bestowed an honour upon you with his sword. Well - now we're going to do something similar," he announced, and Porthos crowed with laughter.
"And - you've all done this too, right?" D'Artagnan said suspiciously. His biggest fear was not that he'd have to endure something revolting, but that he would show himself willing only to find it had been a joke. To D'Artagnan it would be far more humiliating to be laughed at than merely made to perform a physical act.
"Oh, I think I can vouch for all of us when I say we've all been on our knees at one point or another," Aramis promised.
"Right." D'Artagnan took a steadying breath. He could do this. He glanced up, conscious that no-one had yet moved to touch him, and met Athos' assessing gaze.
Apparently satisfied with what he saw, Athos nodded. "Well gentlemen. Who's going first? Aramis?"
D'Artagnan turned his head and blinked. Aramis was aroused, blatantly, his breeches pushed out at the front in obscene detail.
As D'Artagnan watched, Aramis unfastened his lacings with an unhurried smoothness, drawing out his erect cock and palming himself lightly in anticipation.
"Come here then," Aramis invited softly. "I don't bite."
D'Artagnan shuffled round to face him, his knees already protesting at being pressed against the hard wooden floor.
He hesitated, staring in fascination at the sight before him. Aramis was holding his cock ready in his hand, stiff and swollen with lust. D'Artagnan leaned forward a little then checked himself, still not entirely convinced this wasn't all a set up. However, he couldn't argue that Aramis was genuinely turned on, and found this oddly reassuring. D'Artagnan glanced to the side, and found Athos and Porthos watching him with a silent intensity, noting somewhere at the back of his mind that Porthos' arm was around Athos' waist.
Athos nodded at him, encouraging without being impatient, and D'Artagnan wiped his clammy palms on his shirt before turning back to Aramis.
It couldn't be that difficult, right? He'd had it done to him after all, and recently, at that. D'Artagnan pushed that particular memory away hurriedly, feeling a flush of embarrassed shame that was nothing to do with his current situation. He deserved to be made to do this, D’Artagnan thought. It served him right, for having so unwisely fancied himself in love.
He opened his mouth and Aramis gave a hiss of pleasure as D'Artagnan's lips met the head of his cock. Forced to open his mouth wider than he'd expected to take it in, D'Artagnan almost choked. Reflexively, he immediately tried to swallow and his teeth scraped slightly against the soft skin, not hard enough to be painful, but he drew back in embarrassment.
Running his tongue behind his lips, D'Artagnan moistened his mouth before trying again. This time he was more successful, and slid his mouth around enough of Aramis for a prolonged attempt at sucking before having to draw back for a gasping breath when he ran out of air.
"Easy. Don't forget to breathe," Aramis told him, resting a soothing hand on his head.
"How exactly am I supposed to do that?" D’Artagnan retorted without looking up.
"You've got a nose on your face haven't you?"
D'Artagnan snorted, but when he tried again he was more careful, and by changing the angle discovered, mildly to his annoyance, that Aramis was right and he could just about breathe at the same time.
He tried to put everything else out of his head, concentrating on what he was doing. This was little more than moving his lips up and down the shaft as far as he could comfortably manage, and D’Artagnan wondered if he should be doing more with his tongue, or even his hands, which were braced on his own thighs. But Aramis was murmuring encouragements interspersed with an occasional groaned expletive and seemed to be pleased enough, so D'Artagnan kept on doing it.
Largely unaware of exactly how successful he was being, it therefore came as a complete surprise to D'Artagnan when Aramis reached his climax, and spurt after spurt of thick hot come suddenly flooded his mouth.
D’Artagnan jerked back and spat immediately on the floor, wiping his mouth in disgust. When he'd recovered himself somewhat, he looked up in considerable embarrassment.
"Whatever are you apologising for?" Aramis asked in surprise, dropping back onto the bed he'd been occupying and tucking himself away.
"I was rubbish."
Aramis laughed. "Now a man who takes pride in his work is a wonderful thing! But may I say, you were more than adequate."
Athos, too, favoured him with a smile. "I don't believe anyone said you would be graded on your performance," he murmured.
The three exchanged a look above D'Artagnan's head. Nobody had been a hundred percent sure how D'Artagnan would react to all this, but if he was getting into it enough to be concerned how successfully he acquitted himself, it boded rather well.
"Porthos, will you go next?" Athos asked.
Porthos settled himself on D'Artagnan's bunk, unfastening his belt and breeches enough to free his cock, which sprang up like a masthead.
Porthos grinned at him as D'Artagnan moved across to kneel between his splayed knees. D'Artagnan licked his lips unconsciously. Porthos erect wasn't particularly longer than Aramis, but he was noticeably thicker.
"Take your time."
D'Artagnan looked up, fearful that Porthos was being sarcastic and getting impatient, but saw only kindness in his eyes.
"There's no rush," Porthos promised, tucking a stray lock of hair back behind D’Artagnan’s ear affectionately.
D’Artagnan smiled at him, grateful for the reassurance. It struck him for the first time that these men were this turned on because of him, forfeit or no forfeit, and he bent his head over Porthos' lap, sliding his mouth around him willingly.
This time he used his tongue as well, licking around the head and up the shaft instead, when he found it difficult to take Porthos very far in. He wrapped long, blunt fingers around the base of his cock and stroked him at the same time, feeling his own cock lengthening in response, a nagging pressure in the leg of his breeches.
"I'm close," Porthos warned with a low rumble, and D’Artagnan nodded as he sucked, making Porthos laugh.
Porthos let go with a groan, spilling into D’Artagnan’s mouth in one long, sticky pulse.
D'Artagnan held it for a second, then screwed his courage up and swallowed.
Before he could say anything further, Porthos had pulled him up and kissed him, licking deliberately into his mouth and dragging him half into his lap. D’Artagnan kissed back instinctively, and it didn't hurt that his now rigid cock was rubbing against Porthos' thigh.
When Porthos let him go, D’Artagnan was dizzy and blushing. He hadn't expected to be kissed, and it had felt somehow more intimate than the preceding act itself.
He turned to look at Athos in some trepidation. He was still standing between the beds, watching everything that had happened, and the look on his face made D’Artagnan’s cock throb guiltily.
"Come here," Athos ordered. "On your knees."
Obediently, D'Artagnan slid back to the dusty floor and crawled across to him on hands and knees.
Athos nodded approvingly. "The others have been gentle - gone easy on you. I'm going to use you. Do you understand?"
D'Artagnan looked up at him with wide, dark eyes. "Yes," he breathed. "Please."
Athos said nothing, but there was understanding in his face. Sometimes, an element of punishment could make things all the sweeter - for both parties - and he sensed D'Artagnan might be as open to that as he was.
He made D'Artagnan wait while he unhurriedly worked open the fastenings of his breeches, then took D'Artagnan's chin in his hand and forced his lips apart with finger and thumb.
D'Artagnan knelt before him passively, knowing that whatever Athos was going to do it wouldn't be like the others, and instinctively taking a deep breath just before Athos pushed the head of his cock into his mouth. This time there would be no stroking him or telling him to take it slowly, possibly no chance even to breathe.
Athos fisted his hand in D'Artagnan's hair, still holding him tightly along the jaw with the other. This time he didn’t have to worry about pleasuring someone or getting it wrong, he was simply a vessel for Athos to use. It felt strangely peaceful.
Athos had taken all control away from D'Artagnan, was fucking his mouth with a fast, rough stroke, shoving deeper than D'Artagnan had attempted on his own. He managed not to gag with a force of will, and was feeling like he couldn’t hold out a second longer when Athos pulled back, letting him gasp in harsh breaths of air. He panted hard, pushing his hair out his face and wiping bruised and slick lips.
After a moment D’Artagnan met Athos' eyes, and nodded slightly. Athos immediately thrust back between his lips. He filled D’Artagnan’s mouth with his hard, hot flesh, taking what he wanted and leaving D’Artagnan more turned on than he'd believed possible. He found himself clinging to Athos' legs to keep himself upright, body pressed shamelessly against his boots.
He wished he could touch himself, no, he wished Athos would touch him, and as Athos allowed him a second fleeting moment to breathe, to recover himself before pounding into his mouth once again, D'Artagnan entertained a brief fantasy that when this was over Athos would spare him a second to bring him off.
His world had narrowed to Athos, and the cock in his mouth and the pull on his hair. He'd forgotten even his audience of Aramis and Porthos, watching with an open mouthed arousal, wishing they weren't sitting on separate beds but not daring to disturb such a perfect tableau by moving closer together.
Athos seemed able to judge to the second when D'Artagnan couldn’t last any longer, giving him just enough space to breathe each time before resuming his possession of him. D'Artagnan was making wordless, whining noises by now, eyes watering and nose running, an utter shaking mess.
Athos, who'd remained silent throughout, gave the slightest of groans as he finally let himself come, at the last moment withdrawing from D'Artagnan's abused mouth and shooting all over his face.
As the warm drops splattered over his lips and cheeks and eyelashes, D’Artagnan lost it completely and felt himself coming helplessly into his breeches, shuddering bodily with both his own orgasm and the reaction to everything that had happened.
He swayed, and would have fallen if strong arms hadn't caught him and borne him upright. In his dazed state, it took him a couple of seconds to realise it was Athos.
"You did well," Athos told him quietly. "So well." He smiled, and D’Artagnan couldn’t help it, he lunged forwards and kissed him.
To his surprise, Athos kissed him back, a fierce, possessive kiss that somehow felt so much like coming home D'Artagnan abruptly felt near to tears.
Between them all they pulled D'Artagnan down to the bed and settled around him with comforting hands and words of praise. Aramis looked to see if D'Artagnan was aroused himself and perhaps would appreciate a helping hand, and smiled upon seeing the wet patch soaking through his clothes. He wasn't the only one to notice, and the three of them exchanged meaningful glances.
D'Artagnan blushed, slowly recovering his breath and his composure. He looked around at them, taking in the way they were somehow fitting together so easily and unselfconsciously, and came to a conclusion he felt he probably should have drawn earlier.
"You're lovers, aren't you?" D'Artagnan said. "All of you."
Athos glanced at the others, and nodded confirmation. D'Artagnan sighed.
"And I'm guessing there's probably no such thing as the musketeers' initiation?"
Aramis cleared his throat. "Not - as such, no," he confessed, and was relieved when D'Artagnan just rolled his eyes and smiled.
"But it could serve as ours. If you wanted to join us," Athos said quietly.
D'Artagnan stared at him, then looked quickly at Porthos and Aramis, who both nodded their agreement.
"It's - certainly tempting," he said, although there was a little hesitation in his voice. It was tempting, but it was a scary thought too, and then there was the fact his heart was in such turmoil he barely knew which way was up.
"You don't have to decide right now," Porthos said.
Athos nodded. "The invitation's there. It won't be withdrawn."
"And it wouldn’t preclude you from seeing anyone else - if you wanted," Aramis clarified, guessing where part of D'Artagnan's conflict might lie. "It's, ah - an informal arrangement."
D'Artagnan smiled at them all. "Thank you. Seriously. But if you mean it about letting me think it over, then, possibly it's a decision I should make sober."
Porthos laughed. "You've trained him too bloody well!" he told Athos. "What happened to the impetuous whelp we know and love?"
"Who are you calling a whelp!" D'Artagnan shoved him good-naturedly, and they fell to the bed grappling and laughing. Inevitably, D'Artagnan ended up pinned to the mattress beneath Porthos' weight, out of breath and half-hard again.
Porthos grinned down at him. "If it helps you decide, consider the fact we'd all be entirely willing to repay the favour you just performed on us."
"Now, now." Athos smiled. "No coercion or bribery to be used on the new recruits."
D'Artagnan smiled up at them. "Well. Maybe a little bribery wouldn't hurt..."